<< Go Back

The Rejected Mail-Order Bride

By Greta Picklesimer

Order Now!

Chapter 1
HARRISVILLE, KENTUCKY
1871
Harl Adams loaded the last of the feed for the livestock from
Grant’s Mercantile into the back of his wagon. Turning, he bumped
into Cletus Tooth, who was mumbling something to himself.
Tooth didn’t slow his pace or apologize. Instead, he threw a small
photograph case at Harl’s feet and kept walking.
“Hold up there, Cletus,” Harl said. “You dropped something.”
“I didn’t drop nothin’,” Cletus spat over his shoulder.
“What’s got you in such a state?”
Cletus spun around and marched back to Harl. “Her—that’s what,”
he said, jabbing his finger at the case Harl held.
Unlatching the tiny clasp, Harl looked at the delicate black and
white image of a young woman. Shaking his head, he looked at Cletus.
“That don’t match that,” Cletus said, emphasizing the statement by
jabbing his index finger first at the picture and then in the air toward
the train depot.
“Were you meeting someone?”
“Was I! Been talking to her through letters.”
“I didn’t know you could read and write.”
8 The Rejected Mail-Order Bride
“I can’t. My neighbor Paul Richardson’s been writing them for me
and reading them to me.”
“Oh. And you were meeting her at the depot?”
“Ha, not anymore.”
Harl furrowed his brows.
“You mean to tell me that you saw her and left her standing there
alone?”
Cletus shook his head as he backed away. “Go see for yourself.
You won’t believe it. Rose ain’t no rose.”
Turning, Cletus rushed back out into the busy street.
Harl turned toward the depot that was located next to Grant’s
Mercantile. Holding the case open, he turned the corner onto the
platform. There, standing alone, was a short, stout, red-headed
woman in a green coat and matching dress. She was nervously
twisting a white handkerchief in her gloved hands while standing
next to a trunk. Her face was beet red; her brows were pinched; and
her mouth was pursed into a scowl.
Harl stepped cautiously over to her. “Rose?”
She turned toward him. “Mr. Tooth?”
Harl shook his head. “No.”
“Oh, I knew it. How typical,” she said, crushing the handkerchief
in one hand and straightening the matching green hat with long
pheasant feathers with the other. “I must look a mess.”
“No. You look fine.”
Opening her purse, she pulled out a small leather case and opened
the delicate clasp, shaking her head as she looked at the photo. “I
never should have answered his advertisement.”
GRETA PICKLESIMER 9
Harl stepped beside her and peered at the black and white picture
of a man in a Confederate uniform. It was a younger version of
Cletus Tooth. Looking at the photo case that Cletus had given him,
Harl handed it over to her, lifting his brows as if to question her.
She looked at it and scoffed. “I didn’t have a more recent photograph
to send. I thought once he met me . . . ” Her voice trailed away.
“There’s a resemblance there,” Harl lied. She took the case, closed
the clasp, and thrust it into her purse.
Holding out Cletus’ photograph, she said, “Would you be so good
as to return this to Mr. Tooth for me? I have no need of it now.”
Harl nodded. “Do you have relatives here in town?”
“No, no one.”
Harl thought for a moment. He couldn’t just leave her standing
alone on the platform. “Would you like me to drive you over to the
hotel? There’re no more trains for the night.”
Her shoulders sagged. Twisting the handkerchief again, she said,
“I don’t have any money. Mr. Tooth paid my way here. Said I didn’t
need any money. I left everything to come here.”
Large, cotton-like snowflakes began falling around them as the
afternoon light dimmed.
“Well, you can’t stay here all night. Come on. I’ll give you a ride
to the hotel.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“My treat. Besides, it’s just for one night. We’ll get you back on the
train in the morning, and you can head for home.”
Rose twisted the handkerchief angrily. “What will my father say
when he finds out I’ve been thwarted in love?”
10 The Rejected Mail-Order Bride
Harl gestured for her to follow him.
“Wait, my trunk!”
Harl turned back and hefted the trunk up onto his broad,
muscular shoulder.
“Oh my,” she said. “Isn’t it too heavy for you?”
“Not at all.”
When they reached his wagon, he placed the trunk in the back
and helped her up onto the seat. He climbed in on the left side, took
up the reins, released the brake, and told the mules to walk on.
The Moore Hotel and Restaurant stood a couple of blocks down
from the train depot. Even so, Harl felt it was his duty to help this
new stranger and get her safely to the hotel.
At the hotel, Harl jumped down and helped Rose off the wagon.
Inside, Garlin Moore stood behind the ornate oak counter reading
the guest ledger. He straightened, keeping his eyes on the ledger as he
turned it around when they approached.
“One night or two?” he asked, taking a key from a row of boxes in
the wall behind him. Turning, he gasped when he saw Harl. “Oh, oh!”
Harl chuckled and held out his hand. “It’s not like that. She will
just need a room for the night.”
“Of course,” Garlin said. “We have a lovely room overlooking the
pond out back.”
Rose cut her eyes to Harl.
“She’ll take it.” Harl placed a coin on the desk, and Garlin snatched it.
“Last door on the right. I’ll show you,” he said, walking around
the desk.
“I’ll bring your trunk in,” Harl told Rose.
GRETA PICKLESIMER 11
Harl dusted the snow off it before lifting the trunk out of the
wagon. The snow was coming down in large, wet flakes and covered
the backs of the mules. He hefted the heavy trunk inside to an
anxiously waiting Rose.
Garlin led the way up the stairs, followed by Rose and Harl. At the
last door on the right, Garlin placed the key in the lock and opened
the door.
“Here we are,” he said, gesturing Rose into the large room.
Rose stepped into the room and looked around. The walls were
decorated with pink roses on white wallpaper. A white porcelain
washbasin stood against the wall by the dresser and fireplace. A table
and chair were placed opposite near the full-size bed covered in quilts.
“Oh, this is lovely!” she exclaimed. “Reminds me of my room
back home.”
“Where’s home?” Harl asked, placing the trunk down next to
the dresser.
“Chelsea, Michigan.”
Garlin Moore’s mouth dropped open. “You came all the way from
Michigan to Harrisville? Whatever for?”
Rose opened her mouth, but Harl cut her off by waving his
hand. “That’s not important right now. Let’s just say that reason has
come and gone.”
Garlin shrugged. “I hear it’s cold up there in the winter.”
“Yes, it does get very cold. We have snowstorms. I even came
through one getting here.”
“It will be cold tonight. Let me start a fire for you,” Garlin offered.
“Thank you.”
12 The Rejected Mail-Order Bride
Harl looked out the window. “If you’re all set here, I better be going.”
Sticking his hand in his pocket, he withdrew it and offered it to
Rose. She shook his hand as he pressed something hard and round
into her palm. She gasped.
“Garlin here has the finest restaurant in town. Why not go down
and get yourself something to eat? I’ll see you in the morning about
the train fare.”
Licking her lips, Rose smiled. “Thank you, Mister . . . I don’t even
know your name.”
“Harl Adams.”
“Rose Henderson. Thank you for your help today. I don’t know
what I would have done without you.”
Harl’s lips hiked up on one side, giving him the appealing trait of
a crooked smile. “My pleasure.”
Harl hurried from the hotel. When he reached his team, the snow
was coming down in icy torrents. “Come on, boys, let’s get home."

Order Now!

<< Go Back